


Of Web-Shooters and Grapple Guns

by weird_bird (2weird4)



Category: DCU (Comics), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Crossover, First Meetings, Fluff and Humor, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 12:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11851281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2weird4/pseuds/weird_bird
Summary: Peter clutches his suit to his chest. Can't a guy change out of his street clothes in a random alleyway in peace? “Hey, man, that isnotokay!”Perched on the roof, casual as anything, is some weirdo in tiny green shorts and a billowy yellow cape. “I mean, when I followed you over here, I didn’t expect you to start stripping it down. But fine, mea culpa.”





	Of Web-Shooters and Grapple Guns

**Author's Note:**

> just a silly crossover fic inspired by excited ramblings with my best friend as we left the theater. preslashy for peter/ned if you squint. warning for a couple sexual references.

“And people say _I_ show too much skin.”

Looking up, Peter almost _shrieks._ Can't a guy change out of his street clothes in a random alleyway in peace? “Hey, man, that is _not_ okay!”

Perched on the roof, casual as anything, is some weirdo in tiny green shorts and a billowy yellow cape. “I mean, when I followed you over here, I didn’t expect you to start stripping it down. But fine, mea culpa.” He covers his white-lensed eyes with a hand. “Keep going.”

What is this guy, some kind of villain? He _followed him into the alley._ Should Peter be attacking him? But he’s very much _naked_ right now, so he tries to focus on pulling up his suit. Quickly pressing the button, Peter contracts his suit over his body, then looks up at him.

Tilting his head to the side in interest, the masked guy ventures, “No tower, no cave, huh? Just have a secret compartment under some lockers.”

Peter freezes. “How do you know about that?” he demands. He draws back, web shooters at the ready.

“Oh--here's an idea!” The guy jumps off the roof’s edge with a pump of his thighs and flips like an Olympic gymnast. He sticks a perfect landing. “You could have a secret locker room.” Seemingly self-satisfied at his suggestion, he rests his hands on his hips.

Wait a second. That red vest. When the realization hits, Peter points to the _R_ emblazoned on it. “You’re _Robin!”_

“Holy light-bulb moment, Spider-Man!” Robin cracks a crooked grin, soothing the sting. He extends a gloved hand.

Clearing his throat, Peter reaches out to shake it. Robin’s gauntlet’s actually pretty thick, reinforced. Up close, the vest looks like considerable armor, too, contrary to its kindergarten color scheme. “Uh--” Aware that he’s staring, Peter clears his throat again, shakes his head. “What are you doing here?”

Robin rolls a shoulder. “I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d wing by.”

Robin, that is, of Batman and Robin.

People peppered Mr. Stark once a season or two with questions about the _Dynamic Duo_ which he deflected with airy sound-bites about Batman being some local curiosity, just another splash of inexplicable Gotham color. The Sokovia Accords tried to nail Batman and some guy further down the coast named Green Arrow, but ultimately, it was decided that _if_ they were real, they were involved only with municipality-level affairs and were therefore primarily the problem of their own infested little jurisdictions.

“Hey. Hey, Peter.” Robin bounces a little in place. “Wing by? Wing it? Get it?” he--chirps.

No. Focus.

Outsiders to the whole Earth’s-mightiest-heroes shtick they might be, but apparently Batman and Robin have got some insiders’ knowledge. 

“Hang on a second--seriously, how do you know any of that stuff? I mean, the locker thing--my _name_ \--” Peter goes cold all over. Maybe he should call Mr. Stark. No. No, he can handle this. By the sound of this guy’s voice, the look of him, he has to be about Peter’s age, and he doesn’t have any glowy alien weapons or anything. He can handle him. He’s got this.

“I do my homework,” Robin says offhandedly. Leaning forward conspiratorially, he starts talking a hundred miles an hour. “Hey, speaking of homework, how are you making this work-life balance thing work? I only know one other person in this business who’s actually our age, and I wouldn’t call Speedy _well-adjusted--_ ” 

Yeah, Peter can totally handle this guy. Though he’s getting the feeling that he’s a handful. Quickly, Peter tries to catch up. “Speedy? So is he enhanced? Like Quicksilver?” Maybe if he collects enough info, he can report this incident back to Mr. Stark. 

“What?” Robin scoffs. “No. He’s GA’s partner Green Arrow,” he explains. “As in, bow and arrow.”

Right, cool, obviously. “So w-what about you?” Peter wants to tell Robin he’s not stupid, but he’s not sure he could back that up right now. Robin’s on Peter’s turf, but Peter’s the lost one. “I mean, what are your powers?”

Face blanker than ever under the molded mask, Robin turns it back on him. “What are yours? I know you can stick to most surfaces--I actually want to ask you about the full applicability of that later--and you have those web-shooters, but in terms of agility, are--”

The sound of sirens cuts him off.

Peter tenses. His reciprocated curiosity about Robin will have to wait. “Hey, uh, great talk, great meeting you--” He means it. Meeting Robin is _wild._ While he has daydreamed about meeting Thor and Bruce Banner, the Gotham gang--conspiracy forums, not that he follows them, suspect the existence of a Batgirl, which begs the question, why didn’t Robin just call himself Batboy for symmetry? Peter has _so many questions_ \--were so out-there they fell right off his radar. Oh man. Oh _man._ “--but I, uh. Gotta get that.”

Reaching out into his belt, Robin pulls out some kind of hook-gun-thing. Peter gets twitchy for a second because getting twitchy is a handy survival skill for people who put on spandex, but instead of shooting him, Robin shoots some probably-pretty-expensive New York architecture, attaching a long line to it. As he sails into the air ahead of Peter, he shouts over his shoulder, “What makes you think I’m not coming?”

 

“That was awesome! How you grabbed those guns midair with your webs and then you _ran_ up the wall--awesome.” Robin shakes his head in admiration, careful to cup a hand under the smothered street-dog he’s paused in wolfing.

“What about you? That flying kick--” Peter chews and swallows, gesturing. “-- _crazy._ ” They’d managed to catch a couple guys running from a cop car chase. And they took them down hard together. Robin in action up close is amazing. Blurry camera footage don’t do his acrobatics justice. Peter almost couldn't take his eyes off of him.

“Thanks,” Robin mumbles around his bite, looking delighted.

Peter steals a glance at him, then looks down at his grease-spotted napkin. “So, uh.” He glances at Robin again, feeling weirdly shy. Just a couple guys with spicy brown mustard all over their faces having a casual rooftop superhero chat. No big. “What _are_ your powers?”

“Oh yeah.” He sets down his hot dog and waves a hand. “I’m highly trained.”

For a moment, Peter squints at him. He seems serious. Like, serious-serious. “No like, special abilities?” Romanoff and Barton took down aliens with no powers, but they’re middle-aged assassin/spy/whatevers, so it’s a little more believable. And they don’t _fly_ and _flip_ like Robin does.

“I didn’t say _that,”_ Robin corrects, playful, “but I’m an unenhanced human, not a meta.”

Peter takes a breath. “So how long did you have to be highly trained?”

A pause, like Robin’s trying to count back. “Six years.”

“You're kidding." As soon as he does the estimated back-calculations, Peter blurts, "That’s illegal."

“I only kid to criminals,” Robin says, and when Peter boggles, he adds gently, “It’s cool, my legal guardian signed the permission slip.” Then he pats Peter’s knee. 

Robin’s own legs are very, um, smooth. Asking him if he shaves is probably out of the bounds of a heroing Q & A. “Uh...huh.” That’s when Peter’s phone pings. Twisting around, he digs it out of the compact bag Mr. Stark designed for him.

From Ned. _just got out of chess club. whatcha doing?_

Peter remembers his post-saving-the-day snack and takes another bite. With his free hand, he answers, _eating street hot dogs_

_without me??!_

_w robin._

_WITHOUT ME???_

Ned calls him.

A smile playing around his lips, Robin watches Peter try to smooth over his act of utter betrayal. “Yeah--yeah, you can meet him. No, not here. It’s not a _secret superhero hideway._ We’re actually out in the open? On a roof? Hey, you know what…” Aunt May’s got her book club, so the apartment should be all clear (she’s just coming to terms with the whole Spider-Man thing, so it’s not the time to spring the Robin thing on her). “We’ll come to you.”

 

“Yeah, well, _I’ve_ stolen Captain America’s shield.” Peter leans back, arms crossed, triumphant. Take _that,knows_ he’s won their contest of feats. And then Robin smirks. “Yeah, but _I’ve_ kissed a girl.”

Hey, whatever. There’s no way Robin, creepy and omniscient as he seems to be, can know that particular Spider-tidbit for fact. Just as he’s opening his mouth to counter, Ned decides to be his best buddy.

“Hey! You can be a cool superhero even if you’re a virgin.” Ned shakes Peter’s shoulder bracingly. “Right?”

Peter goes pink and casually wants to die a lot.

Luckily, without rubbing it in, Robin moves on. “This your web stuff?” He picks up a vial, shaking it. A thought occurs to him, and he pinches it with his fingertips instead. “You don’t...secrete it, do you?” he asks delicately.

Peter shakes his head in a hurry. “No, I, uh. Make it. In a lab.”

“The third period chemistry lab,” Ned adds, helpful again.

Taken aback, Robin offers, “Do you need help with manufacturing it?”

“Iron Man would help me if I asked,” Peter says. He made him a special suit and everything. He’s pretty sure they’re good now. Sometimes it’s nice to keep things close to home--Karen’s a lifesaver, but he needs his failsafes.

“Yeah, but that’s Iron Man,” Robin argues with a hint of derision.

Ned and Peter stare at him.

 _”Batman’s_ not a war criminal,’” he informs them.

“Okay, but until today, we didn’t even know if Batman was real,” Ned argues. “He’s like, an urban legend.”

“You’re friends with Spider-Man,” Robin points out wryly.

Peter thinks Ned has a point anyway. MJ once leaned over and whispered to him, no context, _”Batman is my favorite cryptid.”_ Which contradicted her earlier statement that the Loch Ness monster was her girlfriend, maybe, but Peter didn’t have skin in the game.

Ned makes a face. “Spider-Man does his thing in broad daylight. There’s Youtube footage of him.”

Robin’s mouth twitches. “I’ve seen.”

“Wait, okay. If you do your hero stuff at night, how do you get away with wearing--” Ned gestures to his outfit with great doubt.

Peter hides his own grin. He _loves_ that Ned has moved right past the starry eyes. Definitely isn’t at all smug that Spider-Man is still the fav. Nope.

Robin sits up huffily and gestures in turn to Peter, who’s lost the hood--the guy saw him naked already and oh yeah, is sitting in his apartment, so--but is still in the rest of his suit. “How many spiders are red and blue?”

“Dude. More than the number of robins that are red, green, and yellow.” Ned shakes his head. "Which is none." Seems like the final word.

"You're looking at one. The one and only." Smoothing out his suit, he points to the R. “It’s about being the light to Batman’s darkness,” he says gravely. Then Robin’s head swings around to look at Peter’s laptop, which keeps letting off these faint pings. “You tracking someone?” he asks with interest, rising and crossing over to look at the circle of radiating red.

“Nah.” Peter rubs the back of his neck. “It’s kinda busted?”

“Huh.” Throwing his cape over, Robin crosses his arms, thoughtful. “I could take a look?”

The sun sets outside, and while Ned does homework on Peter’s bed, looking up at them every now and again, making these _wow_ faces at Peter, Robin and Peter work away at the little device.

Ned taps his pen on his binder. “Hey, Robin. Do you and Batman have a guy in the chair?” 

Robin hasn’t taken off his mask or introduced himself as anything but such. He’s been evasive about specifics. “Yeah. Yeah, we do.”

Perking up, Ned asks, “Does he have a cool code name?” 

Robin’s lips push together. “Not so much.”

Crestfallen, Ned slumps again. “But does he kick ass?”

At that, Robin’s mouth curls up, face flooding with affection. “And take names.”

“Sick,” Ned says brightly.

“Totally,” Robin agrees, bending over the tracking device again and wrinkling his nose. “And--there.” Robin tamps a wire into place, snaps the shell closed, and the circle disappears. 

“Nice!” Peter goes in for a fist-bump. 

And...Robin’s already gone in for a high-five. He drops his hand, laughing, and knocks his gloved knuckles against Peter’s. “We’ll work on it. Maybe a secret handshake.”

“Eh. I don’t know if we’re there yet,” Peter says.

Robin’s eyes widen, and he laughs again. He laughs a lot for someone who works with the Dark Knight. “Okay. Okay, I see. This is the thanks I get for helping you fix your tracking device. People charge for this stuff, you know.”

“You’re not gonna charge for this, are you?” Peter’s after school job doesn’t actually pay, and it’s not like Mr. Stark’s putting quarters in his piggy bank.

Robin lifts his hands. “Pro bono.”

“Good. Because you nearly cut the wrong wire.” When Robin looks indignant, Peter laughs and nudges him with his shoulder. “Hey. No, seriously, thanks. Figured it out faster with you.” He looks over at Ned, who’s raising his eyebrows at him, and just smiles sheepishly.

Ned just looks fond.

“Hey, no problem. We’ve gotta stick together,” Robin says, relieved.

“Us little guys?” Peter should have been trying to gather intel on Batman and Robin. Make a full report to Mr. Stark. Now telling him anything would feel like a breach of trust. 

“I was gonna say us teen vigilantes…” A grimace. “But sure.” Robin glances at the time. “I need to get going, I think.” He tilts his head. “Can I get a ride up to the roof?”

“Already?” Ned echoes Peter’s thoughts.

Popping open the window, Robin leans on the windowsill, yellow cape streaming into the moonlight. “Don’t worry. You haven’t seen the last of me.”

As Peter pulls his hood back on and clambers out the window, Ned calls after them, “That’s more a villain line! Could use some work!”

“I think your friend likes me,” Robin says as Peter snags him around the waist, shooting his webs up the side of the apartment until they get up to the roof. He’s pretty sure Robin could have done this himself, and he’s not sure it’s not an excuse for Robin to get all up on his front, but--Peter has eyes, okay, it's fine, it's really fine. When they land, Robin steps back, then pauses. “Listen, I’d never try to get in between you two.”

Peter stares. “You weren’t." This is happening right now. Okay. "I mean, we’re. Not. It’s not like that.” He thinks of Aunt May walking in on him in his boxers, Ned on his bed. Maybe people would stop making those assumptions if they stopped giving them reasons.

“He’s cute,” Robin says sunnily. “I’d go for it if I were you.”

Peter’s really glad he put his hood back on just now. “Weren't you in a hurry?”

“All right, I know when I’m not wanted!" Grabbing his grapple gun from his belt, Robin runs light-footed to the edge of the roof and throws himself off, executing no less than four midair somersaults before he lands on the next building over, easy as an exhale.

The breeze buoys back his boyish laugh, and when Peter raises a hand to wave, Robin blows a kiss back to him.

 _”Small potatoes,”_ Mr. Stark said once of Batman and Robin in dismissal, _”two very small potatoes.”_

Peter’s not so sure.


End file.
